


Like a Moth to a Redheaded Flame

by Aelia_Gioia



Series: Firsts Are Best Because They Are Beginnings... [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, firsts au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:42:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28034100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aelia_Gioia/pseuds/Aelia_Gioia
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: Firsts Are Best Because They Are Beginnings... [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1955950
Comments: 1
Kudos: 60





	Like a Moth to a Redheaded Flame

Mickey hated this place. 

It was a disgusting pit, in his opinion. So much worse than any dive he’d ever been to. At least at a dump like the Alibi, if his feet stuck to the floor, he could be sure it was because somebody spilled stale beer. He didn’t even want to think about what bodily fluids were all over the floor, booths and bar stools of the Fairy Tail. 

Furthermore, he hated the men here. All of them; from the saggy old closeted geezers who had wedding band tan lines on their nasty liver spotted hands to the thin, waifish queenie fags who did air kisses and called each other “girlfriend”. 

The latter group being closer to his age, he didn’t want to be associated with them. One thing was for certain: Mickey Milkovich wasn’t no fucking fairy and anyone who mistook him for one was going to lose some fucking teeth. 

Yet, here he was, every Saturday night since his father had sent him there to collect on a drug debt from one of the strung out-dancers. 

He took another shot of cheap whiskey and scowled. The skunky beer barely chased the taste out of his mouth. He figured the mixed drinks were better quality at a place like this and truth be told, he was no stranger to a gin martini but he wasn’t about to be seen in a gay bar sipping on a cocktail. 

He glanced around the room and quickly caught a glimpse of bright red hair that made his stomach do a flip. He craned his neck, wishing all these fucking annoying queers would move the fuck out of his way. 

There were two dancers of the ginger-haired persuasion employed by the club but only one of them worked on Saturday nights. 

Curtis was over six feet tall with pale freckled skin and green eyes. His body was practically perfect and Mickey spent an embarrassing amount of time thinking about his arms and chest, to say nothing of the mouth-watering bulge in his gold sequin shorts. 

From the first time Mickey saw him, he became almost infatuated, borderline obsessed. 

Not unhealthily obsessed – he hadn’t followed him home or broken into his apartment to pull red hair from the shower drain to floss with, but Mickey felt an intense draw to him; like a moth to a flaming head of red hair. 

He hadn’t actually worked up the balls to talk to Curtis or even pay for a private dance from him. Every week he showed up to the Boystown club and sat far enough away from Curtis’s platform to watch him dance without being obvious about it. Every week he swore he’d quit being a pussy and fucking talk to him while simultaneously promising himself that it would be the last time he’d ever walk in the front door and get his wrist marked with the pink entry stamp. 

Four months of this and he was falling deeper and deeper in lust with the muscly twenty-something but he was no closer to either shooting his shot or walking away. 

He wasn’t even certain that Curtis was actually his real name, which really made him want to punch himself in the face if he thought about it for too long. He was acting like a teenaged girl and practically doodling their names together in his notebook surrounded by little hearts and he didn’t even know the guy’s fucking name. 

All of those thoughts evaporated from his mind when the music changed and Curtis climbed up on his usual pedestal to dance. Mickey gulped the remainder of his drink down but the icy coldness of the liquid did nothing to cool him off. He watched as the red-headed Adonis rolled his hips and popped his ass out while men tucked bills in his shorts. If the way Curtis danced was any indication of how he fucked... 

“Can I buy you a drink?” A voice interrupted his reverie. 

“Huh?” He turned towards the speaker. 

“I asked if you wanted a drink, baby.” A young blonde man asked. 

“I ain’t your baby. Fuck off,” Mickey growled and took the shot the bartender had left for him when he wasn’t paying attention. 

The man chuckled and followed Mickey’s eyeline. “Oh, you know Curtis?” 

Mickey narrowed his eyes and fixed a glaring, hateful expression on his face. “No, I don’t know him.” 

A smirk spread across the other man’s lips. “Sweetie, everyone knows Curtis. His longest relationship lasted almost an entire Skrillex song in the Cock/Tail Lounge.” He indicated over his shoulder towards the back room where dancers were known to give extra attention to paying customers. 

“You’ve got two seconds to get out of my face,” Mickey stood from his barstool and clenched both of his fists. The blonde man rolled his eyes, mumbled something that sounded like “sad-ass closet case” and walked away. Mickey watched him join a group of other men at a table closer to the dance floor. He said something to them that got them all looking in Mickey’s direction, laughing. He held up both middle fingers at them before he sat back down on his stool. 

When he managed to look away from them, he found that Curtis wasn’t dancing anymore. It wasn’t unusual – the club dancers peddled Jell-o shots on big round trays and walked around the club floor waiting to be approached for a private dance. Only this time, when Mickey’s eyes refocused, he found Curtis standing right next to him, resting his body glitter-smeared forearms on the bartop, arching his back to his ass would pop out, his long legs ended in combat boots laced precisely. 

“What’s got you so aggro?” Curtis asked him, he’d evidently heard the end of his previous exchange. 

Mickey’s eyes widened and he was dumbstruck. If he thought those eyes were attention-getting from a distance, they were downright haunting up close. 

“Guys, um...” Mickey almost choked on his own saliva. “Guys are assholes.” He lifted his chin to indicate the table of aforementioned assholes. 

Curtis scoffed. “Psh. Tell me something I don’t know. Drink?” He offered, pointing to the bartender. 

“Yeah um...” 

“Ry - two dirty martinis. Extra olives.” The bartender nodded and started making the drinks. 

Mickey’s lips twitched up on one side. “Dirty huh?” 

“S’ how I like it,” Curtis replied. 

Mickey grinned self-consciously. He felt a flush rising up his neck to his cheeks and he hoped it was dark enough that Curtis couldn’t tell. The bartender pushed two drinks in front of them and Curtis said thanks. 

“What are we drinking to?” 

“You tell me,” Mickey asked scratching his eyebrow with his thumbnail. 

“Hm. Maybe later. Don’t take a sip yet -” Curtis put his hand on Mickey’s wrist to keep him from drinking. The feeling of his hot, sweaty skin made Mickey’s nipples harden. 

“Why not?” 

“It’s bad luck to drink without eating one olive first,” Curtis explained. He put the tips of two fingers into Mickey’s drink and plucked the toothpick out, letting the alcohol drip back into the glass. 

“That so?” 

Curtis nodded and to Mickey’s surprise, he held out the toothpick for him to take a bite. Mickey watched his pink tongue slip out and wet his lower lip. Blue eyes locked on green ones while the shorter man licked the olive and gently took it between his teeth. He slid it off the toothpick and crushed it between his molars. 

The redhead smirked at him and plopped the toothpick back into Mickey’s drink. He casually ate one of his own olives, still not taking his eyes off of him. 

“So,” Curtis said, still chewing. “Now what are we drinking to?” He held his glass by the stem. 

“To tonight,” Mickey said lifting his drink by the bowl. 

“Tonight,” the redhead repeated and clinked their glasses together. 

Curtis swallowed and licked both of his lips in a move so salacious Mickey actually felt his dick twitch. “You’re South Side?” He asked, gesturing to the tattoo on Mickey’s forearm. 

“Yup. Fucked til I die,” Mickey replied taking another sip. The gin warmed him from the inside out – or maybe that was his burning desire to pin Curtis against a wall and kiss him breathless. “You?” 

Curtis chuckled. “Nah. My mom’s from Lincoln Park but...she’s um...let’s say a rebel with Daddy issues. Like me, I guess. A North Side rebel with Daddy issues.” He looked down at his drink and ate his second olive. 

“Yeah, well I’m a South Side rebel with Daddy issues,” Mickey replied, nodding. “Everybody’s got family shit.” 

“Yeah?” Curtis raised an eyebrow. “My mom fucked her blond husband’s ginger brother. She’s got all kinds of...mental health stuff going on. Nine months later, I came out with this,” Curtis ran his huge hand back and forth through his hair. “Which left no question of my paternity. So, she dumped me on my dad’s doorstep and fucked off. I haven’t even seen her since I was…maybe six? I got some half siblings...somewhere. Dunno. My dad’s not a bad guy – he just didn’t know what to do with me – especially with the whole gay thing.” 

“That’s rough, man. Looks like you turned out ok though,” Mickey finished his drink and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. 

Curtis laughed again, flashing his perfect white teeth. God, Mickey could just _eat_ him. “Yeah, I’m a fuckin’ pillar of society.” 

“You got a job, you ain’t hurtin' anybody,” Mickey said, slowly spinning the base of the martini glass around on the bar. Mickey wasn’t naive, he was pretty sure Curtis was doing a lot more than just dancing but who the fuck was he to judge anybody? 

“What about you? What do you do?” 

“Alotta different things,” the raven-haired man responded, looking away. Any more exposure to those eyes might just make him shoot in his pants. 

“Like what?” 

“Like whatever the fuck I gotta do.” 

“Okay.” Curtis’s laugh broke the sudden tension between them and Mickey smiled at him. 

They shared a silence, which in a club that fucking loud, surrounded by people who were even louder, was as meaningful as it was seemingly impossible. Mickey felt Curtis staring at him and he simply couldn’t avoid looking at him for another second. He turned his head in time to see him wet his lips again. 

“So how come you never talked to me before?” Curtis asked. 

Mickey suddenly felt dizzy. He didn’t know how to respond. Curtis rubbed the back of his neck. 

“I’ve seen you around,” Curtis said with a smirk curling his lips upward. “How come you never talked to me?” 

“I – uh…” 

Before Mickey can respond, a middle-aged drunk asshole stumbled over with a dollar bill between two fingers. 

“Curtis, baby…where ya been? I bin lookin for ya...” He slurred. 

The redhead flushed and stood up a little taller, Mickey read his body language and it clearly meant ‘leave me alone'. 

“Little busy here Tony,” he said. 

“Aw c'mon. You always have time for me.” Tony started to pull on Curtis's shorts, intent on putting the money inside them. 

Mickey watched Curtis’s shoulders stiffen and he jumped to action. He slapped Tony’s hand away and shoved him hard. 

“Those fingers go anywhere near that cock, I’m gunna break every knuckle in your hand – all 15 of them.” 

Tony adjusted his leather jacket, fat old man sweat beading up on his forehead. “Settle down, Rumblefish. Any way a hand only has 14 knuckles.” He twiddled his fingers close enough to Mickey's face that he could smell the last piss he'd taken. 

“You wanna fuckin die?” Mickey took three aggressive steps forward and watched Tony cower and run away. When he turned back around, Curtis was smirking at him with his arms crossed over his chest. 

“I think you just scared a customer away,” he laughed. 

“Sorry. No, I'm not sorry – how do you deal with these sweaty fat scumbags touching you like that?” 

Curtis shrugged. “It’s a game. A tease. They think they can have me if they give me money and I let them think that.” He halved the distance between them and Mickey's heart started to speed up. “You didn't answer me. Why haven't you tried taking to me before?” 

“You make me nervous,” the truth slipped through Mickey's lips before he could think if a lie. 

With an eyebrow cocked Curtis traced his fingertips against the short black hair behind Mickey’s ear. His fight or flight instincts were trying to claw out of him but Mickey held them at bay, he didn't want to fight and there was nowhere else he'd rather be. The beat of the music was pumping almost as fast as his heart. 

“Wanna get out of here?” 

Mickey swallowed and Curtis watched his pupils dilate. “Don’t you have to work?” If the taller man were any further away from Mickey’s mouth, he wouldn't have heard him. He softly shook his head in reply. 

“I only come in on Saturdays to see one person and I’m looking at him right now.” 

The soft moan he heard next might have come out of Mickey’s throat. He could just lean in and kiss him if he'd only give himself permission. 

“My name’s Mickey,” he said, deciding to cup the freckled cheek of the man standing in front of him. 

“Ian. I’m Ian,” Curtis/Ian confessed. 

“I um…” 

“I don’t kiss my regulars,” Ian told him, lightly brushing the tip of his nose against Mickey’s. “I don’t typically kiss...anyone.” 

Mickey tightened his grip on the back of Ian’s neck and crushed their lips together. Ian held onto him for dear life, fisting the front of his shirt with his free hand. He opened his mouth and Mickey’s tongue pushed inside, invading and tasting every bit of him. 

Ian moaned and massaged his own tongue against it, deepening the kiss. His arms found their way around Mickey’s neck and he ground his hips against him. There was no mistaking the feeling of his hard cock pressing against Mickey. 

_Christ he’s huge…_ Mickey thought to himself. 

They didn’t move apart when the kiss ended but they both needed to gasp for air. It was almost counterintuitive to stop in that moment. Mickey felt like he just might die if he stopped kissing Ian. 

“I got my car outside,” he said, gulping in air and digging his fingertips into Ian’s side. 

“Why go that far?” Ian asked with a smirk. Without another word, he seized Mickey’s wrist and pulled him towards the dancer’s dressing rooms. 

Once inside, he flipped the lock and leaned his back against the door. The room smelled like the bottom of an ashtray with the oniony tang of a footlocker. Mickey stared at him in the harsh, florescent lighting. 

_Fuck, he's beautiful._

Ian moved towards him, cat-like; each move purposeful and deliberate, not a single unnecessary muscle moving. Mickey was so turned on he could barely think, let alone move. Finally face to face again, Ian unbuckled Mickey’s belt while Mickey delivered soft, wet kisses to his skin. Ian groaned seeing the flat plane of Mickey’s tongue on his chest. He flicked the pointed tip of it against one of his nipples before sucking it into his mouth and biting it. 

Mickey’s baggy jeans dropped to his ankles and Ian stroked his cock over his boxers. Feeling the palms of both of Ian's hands grab his shoulders and shove him backward, Mickey yelped and waved his arms, trying to regain his balance. He found himself falling to a seated position on a leather sofa. Before his could process another thought, Ian was straddling his hips, unbuttoning his shirt and kissing him passionately again. 

He struggled to get his dirty sneakers off and to work his legs out of his jeans while Ian gyrated on top of him, lapping his tongue into Mickey’s mouth. He hadn’t felt so close to cumming from mere friction since he was a teenager. 

The doorknob jiggled from someone trying to get in. 

“ _Ocupado_!” Ian shouted and the person went away. Mickey looked hesitant to keep going but Ian ran his tongue from his clavicle up behind his ear and he forgot anything on the other side of the door even existed. 

Mickey grabbed hold of Ian’s ass, shoving his hands under the stretchy fabric. He worked on hand inside to caress his middle finger against Ian’s hole. Ian tossed his head back and bucked his hips hard. 

“I’m a top,” Ian said, gently squeezing Mickey’s throat. 

“Thank Christ,” Mickey groaned. 

Ian popped off of Mickey’s lap and dropped to the floor. He roughly pulled Mickey’s stubborn left sneaker off and helped him get his jeans the rest of the way off. 

“I’ve wanted to fuck you since the first time I saw you,” he said, pulling Mickey’s boxers off. His hungry eyes were locked on Mickey and appeared several shades darker as he gently pushed his foreskin back, exposing his leaking pink head. 

Mickey’s hips jerked up when Ian licked at his wet slit. He carefully pulled his cock head open and dipped his tongue inside. He took Mickey's length into his mouth, his head bobbing quickly. He slurped and gagged as it hit the back of his throat and he pumped a close fist at the base. 

“Mmmm Ian…” He grabbed a fistful of red hair and pulled a hard as he dared. 

Ian pushed Mickey's thighs further apart and spat him out. Saliva and precum dripped from his chin and Ian wiped his mouth with his thumb. 

“Fuck - “ Mickey huffed out in a breathy voice. Ian smirked at him and eased his thumbs up Mickey’s inner thighs. He watched with a slack jaw as Ian tongued at his balls, eventually taking them both into his mouth. 

“Oh god...” Mickey’s head lolled backward. Ian hummed around Mickey’s flesh and looked sideways toward his section of the countertop in front of a dirty mirror. 

“You gunna fuck me in front of that mirror?” Mickey asked, having noticed what Ian was looking at. 

“Fucking right I am,” Ian said, spreading Mickey open. He teased his tongue against his entrance, making Mickey whine, keen off the seat and claw at the leather upholstery. 

Ian sat back on his heels, taking in how deliciously disheveled Mickey looked. He could tell the shorter man was very used to being in control, maybe even a little repressed. Seeing him come undone right under his fingers was a huge turn-on. Mickey was panting, his cheeks were flushed, his thighs shook. It occurred to Ian that Mickey might not be terribly experienced, given how worked up he already was. 

He’d barely straightened his legs when Mickey pounced – flying forward off the sofa and tore Ian’s tiny shorts down his legs. 

His cock bobbed in front of Mickey’s face; long, thick, and hard. The tip was dark pink and wet. With no discernible hesitation, he wrapped his lips around the head, swirling his tongue while Ian gripped the back of his neck and let his eyes roll back. 

The hot musk of Ian’s body sent jolts of electricity shooting through his veins. His jaw was already sore and he was having trouble breathing while he sucked Ian off but if this was how he went out, at least he’d die a happy man. It was almost more than he could handle; physically and psychologically. If he hadn’t been so out of his mind with want and need, he might have gotten the fuck out of there as fast as he could. 

Instead, there he stayed, on his knees with a the filthy, low-pile industrial carpeting digging into his knees and a throatful of at least seven inches of dick and more to spare. 

“Good boy... _good boy_...” Ian moaned, lightly thrusting his hips. He felt the back of Mickey’s throat, felt him swallow around the head of his cock. He saw tears welling up in Mickey’s eyes from the strain, he tried backing off, easing up but Mickey inched forward, not wanting it to get easier to take. “Ooh, a little cock hungry, huh?” 

Mickey looked up at him and he slowed his pace down, taking every inch into his mouth, giving Ian a show. He’d fantasized about this moment so many lonely nights in his dumpy apartment. Worshipping Ian’s cock on his knees was even better in real life. He liked it. He fucking loved it. 

“Fuck...” Ian tilted his head backward. It had been a _long_ time since he'd been with someone he was actually attracted to. He wasn't ashamed of turning tricks, he was always safe and there were no misconceptions about what it was, but he missed sexual contact that felt good – rather than it feeling like a business transaction. 

He reached down and stroked Mickey's throat before cupping his cheek. He was trying _so_ hard to take every inch, which Ian knew was no easy feat. He was being a very good boy and good boys got rewards. 

Stepping back again, a larger step than before, Ian watched Mickey fall forward onto the floor as he tried to chase the taste of precum. He braced himself on his hands and found himself in a knee plank position. He wiped the side of his mouth on his shoulder and looked up at Ian from heavy lids. 

“Now _that_ is commitment,” Ian teased him, stepping out of the gold shorts. He left the boots on – they'd take too long to unlace. Mickey slowly walked his hands backward until he was up on his knees. Ian reached out to help him stand. In a move he’d only seen on TV, when Mickey got to his feet, Ian yanked him into his chest and looped Mickey’s arm around his neck. They found themselves in an intimate embrace that would have been a lot more romantic if they weren’t essentially strangers about to fuck in the dirty back room of a club. 

Mickey sweetly pet Ian’s smooth cheek with his hand. He lifted himself up on the balls of his feet to kiss him. He moaned and made soft little grunting noises as the passion grew between them. He felt Ian’s thumbs stroking the skin over his hip bones and before he knew it the redhead was unbuttoning his shirt and pushing it off his shoulders. 

Ian grunted, taking a step back. He saw Mickey’s eyes flash nervously as he swallowed. Digging into his bag, Ian found his smokes. He lit one for himself and perched against the counter. Neither man wondered at the time why it didn’t feel painfully awkward. Mickey squeezed himself at the base and stalked up to Ian. 

“I’m damaged, you know,” Ian said as he exhaled. 

“Who isn’t damaged?” Mickey replied softly. Ian nodded and offered his cigarette to Mickey, who took a drag. “What are you looking at?” 

“You. Just you.” 

A shiver went up Mickey’s spine and his stomach clenched. He’d wanted this but he didn’t expect to want more than sex – he wasn’t expecting to be picturing waking up next to Ian’s long, lean body on a random Sunday morning or - 

“Curtis - you in there?” There was a person jiggling the doorknob again and they were pounding on the door with a closed fist. 

The voice on the other side of the door made Mickey’s heart nearly spring out of his throat. 

Ian groaned and crossed to the door, stomping his boots angrily. Mickey turned back, grabbed as many pieces of his clothing as he could and ran around the corner with them. He got dressed quickly while he listened to the conversation. 

“Dude -I’m with somebody – what the fuck?” Ian snapped. 

“The hell’re you bringing customers back here for? You off the clock? Anyway, Jerry’s here and he’s looking for you.” 

“I do not want to deal with Gropey Jerry’s bullshit tonight, I don’t care how good he tips,” Ian replied. 

Mickey clenched his jaw as he did up the zipper of his jeans. This wasn’t him. He ought to know better than to be so fucking dumb. 

The two men almost collided as Mickey finished dressing and headed for the door. 

“Where are you going?” Ian asked, squeezing Mickey’s upper arms. 

“I’m going. This was a mistake.” He avoided looking in Ian’s eyes; those green sonsabitches were deadly. 

“Well can I call you?” 

“What fuckin’ for?” 

Ian chuckled at the sharpness of Mickey’s tone. “Whoa - what just happened? What did I miss in the last couple of minutes?” 

Mickey scratched at his eyebrow with his thumbnail. “This isn’t me.” 

“It’s not? Because it sure looks like you,” Ian teased. He tried to kiss Mickey but he backed away and swatted at him like a fly. 

“Listen. I know what you do and that’s cool – I’m not gunna judge you for it but...” 

Ian inhaled through his nose and chewed on the inside of his cheeks. “Got it. So, because I do certain things for money, you’re not interested?” He put his hands on his hips. 

“I don’t care how you pay your bills.” Again, Mickey tried pushing past but Ian wouldn’t let him by. 

“Coulda fooled me.” He initiated an intense staring contest. Mickey’s glare had little to no effect on him. 

“You wanna blow all these old faggots for money, Ian – good for you. But I can’t handle it. I can’t. I fuckin want you to myself.“ 

The sharpness of his words cut Ian like a hot blade. 

“Wow. Um...I don’t know what to say to that.” 

“So, you are? You’re hooking?” 

“Men pay me for my company on occasion. If I like them and the mood strikes, yes, it has happened. But I don’t just fuck anybody who flashes money at me. It’s not like that.” 

Mickey pursed his lips and crossed his arms. 

“Listen, I like you. I wanna fuck you but -” 

“I don’t just want sex, Ian.” 

“I can see that. This doesn’t happen to me, like – I'm not used to having someone want me for more.” 

“Maybe you should be.” 

Ian looked away and cleared his throat. 

“So that’s it? Discussion over?” Mickey asked him. When Ian didn’t respond after a minute, he grabbed the rest of his stuff and left. He stomped out of the club with angry tears burning his eyes but not falling. 

Five weeks later Mickey was sitting across from his brother at Patsy’s Pies. It had been a long-ass night of stepping on a couple of keys of coke with Iggy almost snorting more than he packaged. He was so jumpy and twitchy and babbling like an idiot. Iggy wasn’t hungry but Mickey was starving. 

“The fuck is the waitress?” Mickey asked out loud, craning his head around. 

“I just wanna cup of coffee,” Iggy said, tapping ten fingers on the table. 

“Your fuckin heart will explode if you have coffee, idiot. Get a sandwich or something,” he snarled. 

“Hi I’m Ian I’ll be your – oh shit.” 

The two men froze in place looking at each other. Mickey felt his stomach drop. Ian was wearing a grey cotton t-shirt stretched over his muscly arms that had definitely gotten beefier since the last time they’d seen each other. 

“Yo, you need a bump, dude?” Iggy laughed and reached for the coke bullet in his pocket. The smile faded from his face when he couldn’t find it. He padded his pants pockets but it wasn’t there. “I - uh – I'm gonna go to the car,” he said. 

Mickey nodded but didn’t look his way. He knew it wasn’t under the passenger seat like Iggy thought it might be because it was stuck down in the boot he was wearing. He could feel it pressing against his ankle. 

“Mickey,” Ian began once the black-haired man was alone in the booth. 

“You work here now?” 

Ian nodded. “The tips are ok. Plus, this guy I’m into gently suggested I get myself a new job before he’d date me.” 

“That’s not how I remember it,” Mickey replied, smiling in spite of himself. 

“Can I get you something to eat?” Ian pulled his notepad out of his pocket and flipped it open. Mickey placed his order and watched Ian walk to the kitchen. Iggy never came back into the restaurant – a friend had walked by while he tore the car apart and they went off together in search of more blow. 

The two men chatted in between Ian’s tables and eventually, Mickey had to leave. He didn’t want to, but his father was calling him non-stop – he was late to file down serial numbers on a shipment of guns. He got up from his seat and finished his eighth glass of water. Ian saw him stand from across the room. He hurriedly took the elderly couple’s order and rushed back to Mickey. 

“You just gonna leave?” He asked. 

“Gotta run. My dad,” Mickey flashed his ringing phone at him. 

Ian visibly deflated. “Can I see you again?” 

“Yeah. Call me.” Mickey slipped his arms into his jacket. 

“You gotta give me your number first,” he replied, putting one hand on his hip. 

“I wrote it on the back of the check,” Mickey smirked. 

Ian’s eyes went wide and he ran over to the counter, pulling the stack of paid checks off of the spike next to the ancient cash register. He laid them out one by one until he found one with a phone number on it. Mickey’s messy handwriting made him smirk. 

_You look hot today. Call me._ It said above the seven-digit number. He looked up in time to see Mickey walk out the first of the two doors. 

A week after that, they were laying in Ian’s bed where they had spent the entire night before and most of the day. Mickey was aggressively grinding into his thigh, kissing him madly, seemingly unsatiable. 

“You’re gonna wring me dry,” Ian groaned, both of his hands gripping Mickey’s ass. 

“That sounds like a great idea,” Mickey smirked. 

“We’re gonna have to run to the store,” Ian said, looking over at his nightstand. There was a stack of open gold and black wrappers on the table and a soggy pile of used condoms on the floor next to the bed. 

“I brought some with me,” Mickey bit Ian’s earlobe. “In my jacket.” 

“Were you a boy scout?” Ian joked. “So prepared.” 

“Only til my scout leader tried to fuck me,” Mickey joked. 

“I like you.” 

“I like you too. We gunna fuckin chitchat all day or you gunna get up on me again?” 

“Aren’t you sore?” Ian threaded his long fingers through Mickey’s hair. 

“A little. What? You wanna kiss it better or somethin?” 

“Gladly.” 

Ian kicked himself over and with minimal effort, he flipped Mickey over on his back. He tried not to laugh at the look of surprise on the shorter man’s face. 

“When are you moving in?” Ian asked suddenly. His stomach was immediately in knots when he realized he’d actually said that outloud. 

A hollow feeling in Mickey’s chest formed. He was falling hard and falling fast for this guy; now he had an invitation to cohabitate. He didn’t know what to do. “You think that’s a good idea?” 

Ian shrugged a shoulder and rolled off of him. He sat up and found the glass pipe on the second nightstand. He relit it and inhaled pot smoke down to his toes. 

“You can if you want to. You said living with your dad kinda sucks. I think I’d like having you here,” he said calmly after he exhaled. 

Mickey couldn’t hold the grin back. “Fuck it. Let’s do it.” 

“Yeah?” Ian coughed hard. 

“You wanna take the invite back?” Mickey popped an eyebrow and held his hand out for the bowl. 

Ian shook his head. “I told you, I like you.” 

“We makin this an exclusive thing, you and me?” Mickey flicked his wrist between them with the hand holding the yellow lighter. 

“I’ll make an appointment to get tested.” 

The comment made Mickey cough. “You serious? You wanna take that step with me?” 

“I wanna try it. I love this,” Ian said. “That’s what people do, right? They get tested before they’re gonna be exclusive?” he asked genuinely not knowing. 

“Fuck if I know what people do. But – since you said it first – I love this too.” Mickey paused and took a second hit. “Shit, man. Let’s do it.” 

All of their friends thought they were crazy but five years later, when they bought their first shitty little two bedroom house together, Mickey and Ian split a stolen bottle of Moet in the bathtub, remembering how their whole crazy journey began. 


End file.
